By myself

Last night I dreamed that my sister and I had mistakenly driven to Trenton, New Jersey. We were both quite scared and lost so I suggested that we pull over into a Wendy's so I could get my GPS out and get us back home. My sister (Jennifer) got out to go get herself a drink and then came running back to the car and pounded on the window telling me to let her in. So I reached over to unlock the doors...
... and proceeded to spill an entire glass of water all over my nightstand. I wish my dreams were not quite so vivid.

Anyway. The biopsy came back normal. So I do not have duodenal cancer. Yippie, right?
Well in a way I guess you could say I'm relieved and rather glad.
But in another I was actually rather discouraged and even... disappointed.
You're probably thinking, "You crazy idiot. No one WANTS cancer. What kind of a psycho are you??"
Well I don't WANT cancer. I WANT for whatever this sickness is to have a NAME. Because when it is named it can be cured. Unless you know what something is you can't go about treating it.
At the moment I am adrift on a boat of sickness in a sea of exhaustion and pain without a sail. I don't have any oars and my crewmen all jumped overboard because, let's face it, intestinal distress is nobody's friend.
Sometimes I get the feeling that people think I should just jump into the water and swim for it. Like I'm in the boat because I want to be. And I could leave if I really tried hard enough. I don't think they see these invisible 80 pound weights the Gremlins tied to my ankles.
No land in sight.
No breeze for the non-existent sail.
Just me in a boat. And I'm sure the toilet is going to stop working any day now.

I know what you're thinking. I'm feeling sorry for myself, right? And that's pathetic and I shouldn't do it.
Well I'm not feeling sorry for myself. Even sick and tired I'm far better off than most people.
But I sure do wish I had some answers.
And I wish I didn't feel so...
Alone.